Any Port in a Storm
by HistorianOfHell
Summary: A Shameless PC and Sand Fan Fiction. Evil shadowy things can not stand up to scathing sarcasm.
1. Chapter 1

Here begins the NWN2 fan fiction "Any Port in a Storm" by Phoebe. Maevril Loquerion is hers, the rest belong to Obsidion, Bioware, whoever. Those people that made NWN2. Enjoy!

**Any Port in a Storm **

**Chapter one: Negotiability **

"Oh my! Maevril's face is being friends with the wall again!" The gnome piped up.

"My lady, just because you are from a race that is murderous and cruel--" She heard Casavir, but couldn't see him. Her face was pointed towards that ever-nauseating salmon-pink.

"Oh! Now her face is hitting the wall! How odd..." Grobnar again.

"Oh look Paladin, now you've upset her. She's going to go to her room and cry! What a gentleman..." Bishop's evil snarl was added to the mix.

"Lass, don't be worrying about nothin, you'll be fine." Khelgar attempted to be comforting.

"Yeah, listen to the dwarf. I'm of questionable heritage and people trust me all the time!" She wondered if Neeshka ever said anything remotely helpful.

"And then you rob them blind, good, good. Speaking of that. Sal! Have you checked the wine cellar to make sure northing's missing?" Duncan, she knew, was rarely helpful.

"Nope. All there Duncan." Sal on the other hand was quite sane.

"I think this is stupid. Nothing is ever solved by the law. We just need to find Torio and set her house on fire." Of course _everyone _knew Qara was insane. Which the ensuing glare from the rest of her compatriots towards the wicked sorceress gave her the perfect opportunity to do what she'd been wanting to do the past three hours.

"Qara destruction would only lead to more destruction, we must find a peaceful way out of this...wait, where did Maevril go?"

"Probably to bed, the poor thing..."

"Maybe she ran off, not a bad idea..."

_Escaping from a window like a schoolgirl. What next Maevril? Throwing a temper tantrum during the trial and asking Lord Nasher pretty please if you could be innocent? _

Escaping from the window was desperate, but she had to.In many thoughtful conversations one could say it would possibly be danger, a fight, even a former lover come to visit that would cause one to do something so drastic. There were a multitude of probable, plausible things that could be the reason. Unfortunately the Sunken Flagon was never that simple. Occasional brawls would be a welcome retreat to the constant drone of bickering, plotting, insulting, and general insanity, but it rarely ever resulted to that unless Khelgar was in charge of the tap. That had only happened once. After that Duncan banned Khelgar from even being near the bar.

Maevril had nimbly jumped out of the window on the bottom floor of the Sunken Flagon without even the insects at the tables noticing. Neither did she rustle the ugly flower-patterned curtains on her way out. She sat beneath the window of the tavern with its salmon-pink walls listening to her companions kindly deciding her fate for her for the hundredth time. Their voices were so loud they wafted through the walls, past the window, and into the small alley she was now sitting in. Actually, she wouldn't have been surprised if all of Neverwinter heard them and Lord Nasher was sending out a search party to discover the disturbance. She sighed and heard Duncan's voice above the rest, shouting. She didn't even bother to listen.

She was relieved she'd managed to leave the usual circus of conversation early on this particular night. She was exhausted, upset, and generally in too foul a mood to listen to Duncan complain in a drunken stupor about how the Luskans were playing off her less than reputable heritage. The trial was in a day; she didn't feel like being accused of another murder and this time having actually committed it.

The only light in the small alley was one long ribbon of yellow from the window of the tavern. She could see fine despite this. She was a drow, after all. Questionable heritage, affinity for spider and dark evil things, all of that, or so that's what they said she should be like. She didn't mind spiders, especially the nice large one in the goblin cave, but she definitely didn't want to worship them. But this was only recently brought to her attention, she had never thought about being one of the dreaded "dark elves". Growing up in a small village next to a swamp with no entrances to the Underdark nearby made her believe she was more human than drow, making her current predicament a new one to her usually eventless life in West Harbor. The smell of musty tavern, spilled alcohol and perhaps urine began to permeate her senses and she decided to move.

She wandered the street, stealthily of course, she knew there were bandits, shadows, shadow-wielding bandits, self-loathing crypt-dwelling teenagers and gods knew what else around. Light streamed down from the oil lamps along the tiny streets of Neverwinter as she continued walking, the moon and the trail of stars behind it sat on the horizon. Without thinking she found herself going in a familiar direction. She knew it wasn't a good idea, the trial was soon, she'd most likely be disrupting the concentration of her only hope of survival while at the same time making a fool of herself.

But she couldn't go back to the tavern. She knew that if she didn't kill one of her companions, she'd at least make it look like Bishop did. She sighed.

_Any port in a storm..._

* * *

Sand was looking over his notes again. Bits of parchment and pieces of evidence littered his once active alchemy workbench. One thin eyebrow seemed to be constantly raised in question as he looked over it all. The trial was soon and though he of course knew he was capable of helping Maevril win, he wasn't sure Luskan would allow it. He sighed, he hadn't thought like that in ages, like the Luskans. Ruthless, self-devoted and reckless, but in a court of Neverwinter law? In front of Lord Nasher? He knew he was missing something. It was getting ridiculously late and he had thought of every comeback possible. He sighed, almost blowing out the few candles burning low on the table.

He felt something soft rubbing against the bottom of his robes and looked down.

"Jaral, you deplorable animal I thought I'd let you out-"

He briefly smelled leather armor and something else oddly pungent. Perhaps the stink that Duncan's inn left on one after living there an innumerable amount of weeks.

"Oh my, I believe there's a drow thief in my shop. Perhaps I should call the watch. What do you think Jaral?" He looked down at the calico cat who looked up at him expectantly, tail twitching. "Oh you're right, I believe the watch _has_ been compromised."

"Very funny," the voice came out of nothingness and appeared a few inches to the left of Sand. Jaral's eyes widened and he ran off, the cat's tail puffed up and looking like something Torio wore as a fashion statement.

"I'm sorry," Mebriel, laughed, watching the cat run behind a pile of books. "You'd think he would like me after I let him inside."

"Hmm, well he is a fickle animal." He looked at the drow, "I assume you're here because the trial is painfully soon?"

She thought a moment. Yes, that sounded like a good reason.

"That and I had to leave that inn before I back stabbed someone and threw them in the river. Oh, and sorry about not knocking but you should possibly not leave your door open..." she grinned.

"Don't tell me, Bishop? No, wait. Casavir? Gods, not the_ Gnome _as well?" Sand delicately shifted a few pieces of the evidence to one side and began writing more notes with a long black quill. "Oh and don't worry about the door, it was open, it is warded against unwanted visitors. You managed to be wanted, feel privileged." He looked up and smiled at the elf sardonically. "If you had had any others of our merry band with you at this time of night they possibly would have been polymorphed into a plague rat."

Maevril chuckled darkly and roller her eyes, moving over to a stool next to the workbench. Sand kept his gaze on the parchment, attempting not to look straight at the drow and her unnatural features. He had to admit it was difficult not to look at her with bewilderment and perhaps a little awe at the best of times. Her hair was blood red, extremely rare for a drow and her eyes were a pale-white violet. He figured it best not to get distracted that badly, he'd rather retain his concentration than see her dead by Luskan hands at the trial. He wondered if that was sentiment...briefly, but quickly dismissed the notion for a particularly brilliant thought on the poisoned sliver of corpse skin that sat uncomfortably close to him. Maevril spoke up again.

"It's just a never ending headache. They actually make my head hurt. You'd think they were the ones on trial the way they talk. They're so self absorbed they barely notice I'm standing right there, glaring at them when they talk about me."

"I know the feeling," he added tonelessly then looked up, grey eyes flashing over the drow. "Hmm, I might have something for your headache." Sand walked to one of the corner of his shop and rifled throw a pile of books discarded carelessly beneath one of the shelves. He selected a rather large one and held it up, nodding.

"Here," he handed her a thick black tome. On the outside of the crackling cover were red words stating "The Hordes of the Underdark."

"A book? You want me to cure my headache by reading?"

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Fine. It looks...interesting. Is it so I can brush up on my forefathers' evilness? Or is it just a good read?" She laughed. He went back to his alchemy bench and began working again. He didn't look up as he spoke.

"Neither. It was written by a grammatically challenged Kobold that now resides in the Merchant District. But by its size and weight I would imagine that throwing it at Duncan's head would result in him losing conciousness." Maevril let out coughing laugh, almost dropping the book.

Sand's shop wasn't large, but it wasn't a closet either. Tables lined one side while every inch of the walls were covered in book shelves and odd portraits. On the long tables were various instruments used in alchemy, she recognized many of them from Tarmas's place back home. Most of them she couldn't even begin to guess their purpose but the candle light reflecting off the glass surfaces did make for quite an atmosphere. She wondered a moment on what kind of atmosphere but quickly changed the subject to something more foul.

"I asked Bishop what he thought of the trial."

"There was your first mistake."

"Oh, I'm aware. Anyway, he asked me to run away with him to the forest." Sand looked as if he'd swallowed a particularly rancid potion, the thought breaking his concentration completely. He finally looked up at her.

"Oh what a lovely sentiment. A tent with Bishop until the unforeseeable future with only his insightful intellect and forest beasts to keep you company. You said yes, I'm sure?"

"I told him I wanted to stab him in the neck...I'm regretting that now figuring one day he might do the same to me and most likely in my sleep."

"My dear, if his stench doesn't wake you up his tactlessness will."

For some reason that statement made her feel worlds better. She didn't even feel her headache any more. She looked up from her stool at Sand, expecting him to be scribbling away at his notes again, but he wasn't. Maevril felt herself blushing, though she knew he couldn't see it on her dark grey skin. For once she thanked her questionable heritage. For one long, strangely awkward moment he looked at her sitting next to him and realized how close she was. She smelled like leather armor and Duncan's deplorable inn, and something more pleasant he couldn't identify. He hadn't enjoyed the prescience of an intelligent person in what seemed like decades, probably were decades, and hew knew he was beginning to get slightly _too _fond of the dark elf. A bit too fond for him to be before a trail regarding her life and death.

_Wonderful. _He thought. _The first woman you've set your eyes on like that in years and she's Duncan's niece. _

Maevril had to leave. She was beginning to wonder if she could even stealth her way back to the inn blushing as much as she was. She hated it, she hated having to retreat like a fool from the inn to Sand's shop just to enjoy a few awkward encounters that seemed more sane than anything she'd done since she got to Neverwinter.

She stood up quickly and looked away.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have come to bother you, the trial is soon, you need to go over evidence...and things...and yes. I need to get back to wallowing over my tragic existence as a murderer and squire of an overly pretentious knight. All of that. I'll see you soon Sand," she turned to leave.

He reached out and grabbed her had before she turned. Her eyes went wide in shock, so did his. Pleasant shock, at least. Maevril couldn't move. He took her other hand and stood up.

"Dear girl, you will be fine. We will win the trail, I can assure you of that. Torio is talented but she has a much more difficult job than us, we _are _actually innocent. And as for our companions, well, you know where to find me if you need more tomes to knock them unconscious."

She laughed, still keeping her hands in his. There was another moment of silence and then a loud popping sound of falling glass at the end of the store. She let go, startled, and looked to see Jaral innocently in the middle of the room, a large beaker of some potion spilled next to him. The cat's tail twitched slightly.

"Gods, familiars..." Sand muttered, walking over to the mess and muttering a cantrip to clean it up. The beaker slowly melded back together on the floor and the liquid evaporated. Maevril found her opening.

"Thank you Sand, I appreciate your sanity in all of this," she sighed, finally moving towards the door.

"Never a problem, good Maevril. But please go before they send the paladin gallivanting into my shop to search for you. His shoulders are wide enough to knock things off the shelves," he smiled. She laughed and was gone, suddenly invisible. Sand didn't even hear the door open. He sighed and looked down at his familiar. The cat's eyes were narrowed in an almost sarcastic, questioning way. Maybe...a little disappointed.

"What are you looking at Jaral? Are you saying I should have done more to comfort the girl?" he scoffed. The cat yawned, rubbing against Sand's robes again. He sighed and rolled his eyes, sitting back down to work.

When he went back to the table Jaral noted with satisfaction that Sand seemed a bit more determined than before.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Trial of Wits

Maevril was moving more recklessly than usual from shadow to shadow across the streets of Neverwinter. She didn't know what to think. She knew the feeling she had, it was that transient state of satisfaction and emptiness that came with being a love-sick fool. Or just a sick fool, she wasn't sure yet what was going on. She wished she possessed the obvious forward nature of her ancestors in seducing males, but clearly her growing up with only humans and a dead-to-the world foster father made her incapable of such seduction. Not that it would be a good idea anyway.

She walked back around to the alleyway behind the Sunken Flagon that she had been in earlier. The tavern was dark and blessedly silent. Making quick work of the window's lock she snuck in, completely invisible. She made her way up the stairs and into the oil-lamp lit hallway between rooms. She noted that some of the lights were still on and she could hear muffled talking, they must have just concluded discussing Maevril's fate and were moving on to each other's. Her room was at the end of the hallway, door slightly ajar.

"Wonderful," she muttered under her breath. As she got closer she saw a glint of grey-black armor. _Gods, not right now._ She peered in and saw the paladin standing over her sparse pile of things, including her rapier. He was muttering under his breath. Casting something...casting...detect _evil_?!

"My evil didn't wait for me while I was away, Casavir," she hissed. The paladin looked surprised at her sudden appearance before him and slightly abashed that she'd caught him attempting to sense her non-existent evil. He stood up straight and bowed slightly.

"My lady, I was merely sent here to see if you were asleep and safe." She didn't believe him, but could paladins lie? She wasn't sure.

"I was out for a walk," she smiled as believable as she could but with a hint of if-it-wasn't-true-there's-thing-you-can-do. He shifted nervously, creaking. She wondered if he ever changed out of that iron-golem-looking suit he wore every day. It would be highly uncomfortable to sleep in.

"It is dangerous out there, Maevril. We do not want--"

"We? Or you? I can assure you Casavir that I am highly capable. Some even think I'm capable enough to destroy an entire village," she seethed, her pale eyes boring into Casavir with enough scrutiny to make him flinch. He sighed very loudly causing his armor to creak with the exhale of air. She thought she heard the small rodent running on a wheel in his head almost choke from exhaustion at the difficult predicament. She snorted indignantly and moved her rapier off her bed and onto the floor. She began to unlace her bracers and looked up at Casavir expectantly.

"I will tell them you were here the whole time. Goodnight, my lady." And at that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

_Well, paladins can lie. And they can lie for you! Excellent..._

She gained a bit of respect for the paladin. Not much, but just enough to consider him more palatable than Bishop. Which wasn't difficult.

She grinned to herself when the door shut and began to remove her things. It took ages, as always. She removed her leather armor, two bags of poisons, three daggers, four darts, two healing potions, six scrolls, and a small pouch of oddly sentimental personal belongings. Even without her rapier she was amazed at how she managed to move silently with all that junk on her.

The drow climbed into the small, rough bed, scanning the darkness of the room for danger like she always did before she slept, it was a new habit but one she took to quite well. Getting killed while sleeping was such a boring way to go hence she took all costs to avoid it. She took one of her daggers and placed it beneath her pillow, as she always did, and tried to force herself to sleep. She was unsuccessful. It wasn't until the pale light of dawn appeared that she managed to sleep at all and soon after that she woke to the sound of arguing again below her, or Grobnar's singing. Sometimes she couldn't tell the difference.

* * *

Sand's eyes narrowed in indignation and hate. His hands clenched on the podium so tight they slowly began to turn an undead-like pale. A hissing noise escaped from him as he turned to Maevril.

"That banshee..."

She had to do something. Maevril looked up at Torio and glared, letting her voice sound as loud and sure of herself as possible. Which, she had to think, sounded fairly intimidating for her size.

"Are you saying that anyone from Luskan shouldn't be trusted? If so you negate your own case Ambassador!" The audience murmured in satisfaction and Callum agreed. Torio glared at the drow through layers of makeup and ire. With confidence Maevril smiled to Torio, her eyes meeting the Ambassador's in a nod of mutual distaste.

She knew that all of the bantering, arguing, and debating that she spent doing as a child would help. She learned to battle with words first, then if there was no choice but to fight, to not get hit. Stabbing and winning fit somewhere in the middle of that, along with making a good show if it at the same time.

Sand looked at the drow approvingly and with more then a tad of shock. Whether he was impressed that she came up with such a retort or that she didn't act confused at his involvement with the Hosttower was the true question. Was it that obvious he craved power enough to at one time be slightly less than good? But it didn't matter, the trial has to continue and Sand understood he owed their glorious leader an explanation afterwards. If there was an afterwards.

* * *

The glee she was feeling from Sand's comment on Torio's choice of clothing was quickly cut short by the newest announcement of a trial by combat.

"You're kidding," she muttered, her face suddenly emotionless.

"Gods I was hoping she didn't know about that..."

"You were hoping she didn't know about THAT?!" Maevril screeched at the elf, flailing her arms over his head. Sand looked slightly abashed but for only a moment, quickly regaining his composure and slowly pushing her arms down.

"Do not worry, Maevril, no one will..." his regained composure was quickly lost when he noticed who had spoken on behalf of Ember.

"Oh and look it appears your combatant will be Lorne..." he muttered, fear beginning to seep into his normally sure voice. Lord Nasher, sitting high on his imposing throne, looked down at Maevril with sadness and what she assumed was pity. Lord Nasher's eyes darted to the trebuchet-sized Lorne and Maevril swore she saw him cringe.

"Gods this is going to be a long night..."

* * *

Some priests talked to her. Khelgar ranted and waved his stubbly arms about frantically while talking about justice and bar fights and how he could fight for her. But, Maevril turned him down. If anything they blamed the murder of that entire village on her, perhaps she'd be able to convince Lorne that if she'd wanted to she could have actually done it after slitting his throat. Not that she wanted to hurt the people of Ember anyway, she liked innocent people alive, oddly enough. Though she didn't enjoy spending too much time with them.

She decided to begin her "reflections."

She examined the stone behemoth in front of her, glaring at her with scrutinizing and archaic-looking eyes.

The statue of Tyr was hideous. Absolutely hideous. It looked like a frost giant who'd eaten some particularly fibrous kobold-kebabs and had to use the privy in the middle of a battle. Maevril made a note to herself to not allow any Tyr memorabilia into her keep once she was either dead and in the hells, or alive and in the favor of the Neverwinter nobility.

The room was utterly silent except for the light hissing of the torches around the statue. It was just an empty, silent, stone room. The floor was so polished she could see her dark face in it reflecting in the torchlight.

_Well, I'm reflecting, _she though wryly. If anything it made her notice she'd pulled enough of her hair out during the trail to leave her braids falling apart. She glared at herself in the reflection and began to undo them, realizing how entirely long her hair had gotten. When she finished her long, blood-red hair nearly reached past her chest.

"Huh," she looked at the reflection and marvelled at how different she looked. Her hair made her skin look less grey and more pale in the torchlight. For a fleeting moment she didn't even look like a dark elf.

"So, quiet enough for you? I mean, now that Khelgar is done ranting...I heard it from several streets away. Actually helped me find this place."

She bolted upright, her hair almost choking her as she caught her hands in it. Sand had already walked in holding what looked like a sack of potions. For a brief moment he stared at her, his eyes roaming over her loose, chaotic hair. He was either amused or aroused, or both. She wasn't sure if that was a good combination.

"I hope you don't mind if I come in here and start just speaking my mind. Otherwise, this place would seem awfully dull. Though you seem to be enjoying yourself," he added wryly.

"I don't know, Tyr and I were just about to talk about the finer points of hair-braiding when you came and interrupted us. Turns out he's quite good at it," she grinned, gesturing at the braided locks of the statue's beard. She felt more relieved to see the moon elf than she thought. She did however have to hold back any jibes involving his time at the Hosttower for the time being. Maybe after she survived certain death.

"I must say," he began silkily, "I didn't expect that we would be able to force Torio's hand like this. Trial by combat is rather a desperate maneuver, quite unlike her," he paused, his eyes searching over the temple and finally landing on Maevril. He had an almost vicious look in them as he spoke. This, of course, didn't bother Maevril at all, she got that look most likely more often then he did.

"It's rather quite pleasing. And if you were to beat Lorne…"

"...When I beat him, dear Sand, when." She smiled.

"Yes...when. Well, that would make me simply ecstatic. I could help you, you know."

"Hmm, anything to tip the odds I'd say."

"Here, take this," Sand walked up to her and handed her the small sack full of potions. She looked inside seeing at least 5 different bottle of multi-coloured liquids. "It's a few special concoctions I whipped up to help you tomorrow should Lorne decide to poison, cheat or simply give you several gaping chest wounds."

He paused, flattening his robes down with his hands and looking at the ceiling. Maevril grinned inwardly. Was that nervousness? She saw him look down and his eyes rest on her hair again for a moment.

"And, uh, no need for thanks – it would just be embarrassing. Let me leave you to It." He turned to leave and quickly turned around on his heels, looking at her again.

"But..there is one last thing,"

Oh gods she knew it, she wasn't just hallucinating or fretting like a young girl in spring he might actually be interested in--

"Our good friend Torio," Maevril looked visibly dissapointed. "I think she's rather close to breaking. It's what happens when one is tied to an ill-conceived plan...as I once felt." Guilt seeped into her. He actually sounded _sad_. Or distraught, she wasn't sure. She made a mental note to pry into his past after this whole combat nonsense was over. If anything it would be an entertaining battle of words.

"...and I think Torio is one who prefers to be on the winning side. Worth thinking about, especially if she is at our mercy later."

"Thank you Sand, if we can use her talents of treachery for our own needs I'm more than willing to give it a shot." She knew she would rather just stab the evil wench, but Sand seemed to think she was useful.

"One of the many things I appreciate about you Maevril, always willing to compromise good but have enough sense to not be entirely evil. Well, I'll be off. Good Ni--"

She hugged him. Sand's eyes went wide as he felt his usually vigilant personal space bubble shatter under the arms of the slender drow. He looked uneasy for a moment, more like he'd choked on something pleasant rather than unpleasant, and then lifted his arms around her. He felt like he had to, she was there, his arms were there, there was nothing sentimental about it. But, it was nicer than pushing her away...and it was lasting a bit longer than he would have expected. She was surprisingly warm. Why didn't he say anything? She smelled less like Duncan's Inn and more like...well, he still couldn't decide. But there was definitely something vanilla about it, or perhaps honey. Or both. He touched a curled piece of her red hair absently from behind her back...

Something clanked in the doorway. Normally it would have been unnoticeably quiet but Sand and Maevril jumped like children caught stealing sweets. It sounded suspiciously familiar to the paladin's armor. Sand retreated from the drow's embrace and looked cautiously in the direction of the door. He didn't see anything. He regained his senses and composure as quickly as he'd lost them.

"Dear girl, you will be fine. I am confident in your abilities as a rogue to stealthily deal death to that poor brute before he even realizes you've killed him...Now I'll be going before the paladin comes in here and thinks we're compromising Tyr's ability to judge with our sarcasm. Farwell." Sand walked out of the room a bit too hastily, before Maevril could look at him or say anything else.

She thought she heard him run into something metallic in the hallway and then hiss an insult. Not long after Casavir appeared in the doorway. He appeared bearing gifts, chivalry, and moodiness. She didn't turn down the ritual flask, that was useful, but she made a point of turning down the chivalry and moodiness.

She would have taken wit and sarcasm over that any day.

Soon she was left alone again to reflect on the poorly-carved and constipated face of Tyr and her own hopeless attraction to an emotionless moon elf wizard. She was pleased that for a few moments there she had almost forgotten about her impending doom.


End file.
